Anger and Smoke
by Ruingaraf
Summary: A series of short Mustang/Hawkeye oneshots, mostly Hawkeye-centric. Mangaverse. 12: "She always thought she'd die protecting him, not being used against him. "
1. Falling

"Anger"

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Hagane no Renkenjutsushi  
Universe: Manga  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Royai  
Summary: A series of otherwise unconnected RoyAi drabbles, inspired by a common source.  
Notes: Inspired by a number of different songs, using the lyrics as prompts. My Riza muse loves them, for some reason. O-O I KNOW I SWORE I'D NEVER WRITE A SONGFIC. But this is a series of unconnected drabbles using lyrics as prompts. That doesn't count, right? ALSO ZOMG CHAPTER 94. I wrote this and posted it long before that came out, I feel so special.

* * *

_Think of all the things your hands could make  
It pulls you to the ground like soaking wet gloves  
The change in your face when anger shows_

* * *

She watched as his features subtly contorted into rage as he stepped towards Envy, and she knew what he was thinking of. Hughes. Revenge for his fallen brother. Her stomach twisted, and as much as she agreed with him, she didn't like seeing his face like that. Eyes narrowed into slits, nostrils flared and upper lip curled slightly, he was more furious that she had ever seen him. He moved to snap with his dry glove, and she noticed fleetingly that she had never seen that raw urge to kill, to destroy, to completely obliterate on his face.

Flames were a fickle thing, ruled entirely by raw emotion. A small amount warmed the body and the heart and created companionship and love, but when they grew large and powerful they decimated utterly. The same hands that drew subtle alchemy circles were capable of destroying entire towns. But strangely, she couldn't bring herself to fear him.


	2. Realization

* * *

_In that moment you realize  
That something you thought would always be there will die  
Like everything else_

* * *

"Yes, I know! I'm an idiot!"

He felt bad for not listening to what he was sure was a very concerned and angry tirade, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts. She'd just been in the merciless grip of death, both literally and figuratively. A minute, even a few more seconds and he would have been too late. His instincts had never been wrong, and as much as he hoped they had been this time, they hadn't been. It was the same icy chill he'd had when Hughes called. A premonition of death, except this time he's been fast enough to stop it. Barely.

It had hit him with the force of a wave on the frantic rush to her rescue- she wouldn't be around forever, and neither would he. They were both going to die, and at this rate, it would seem to be sooner than later. He'd just have to protect her as best he could and hope that he died before she did. Because no one else was going to die before him, dammit.

He looked over towards his Lieutenant, and resisted the urge to touch her shoulder to verify that she was really all right. Her words didn't quite reach his ears, though he saw her, in all her thankfully intact vivacity, pointing an angry finger in his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, and despite being on a roll, she stopped to allow him a few words.

"I'm glad you're all right." he said, softly and simply.

She seemed taken aback by his concern and unsure how to respond. "I'm… sorry to have worried you."


	3. Fear

_These thoughts I must not think of  
Dreams I cant make sense of  
I need you to tell me its okay_

* * *

Roy turned over in his bed as his eyes cracked open. He made a fuzzy attempt to figure out what had woken him, and he noticed a deep yet rapid breathing from the direction of the window. He opened his eyes fully and sat up.

"Riza?" His tone was sleepy, but laced with unmistakable concern.

She turned her head towards him and pulled the pale sheet tighter around herself. "I'm fine, just thinking." She answered his question before he asked, still perched lightly on the chair. After a moment, she turned back to the window, obviously assuming that he was going back to sleep.

Instead, he stood up and walked towards her, pulling the fabric off and wrapping his arms around her. He felt her shaking slightly and tightened his grip. After a moment of confusion, it hit him that she obviously had nightmares from Ishbal, too.

He pulled her back down to sit on the bed, still holding her tightly, saying nothing and simply stroking her hair. It seemed to be all she needed, as he felt her begin to relax again.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked. It was illogical to say the least, it was not uncommon for her to wake and calm him after a particularly vivid night-ghast, and therefore more than fair for her to ask for the same.

"It's not that bad. I didn't want to bother you." she whispered back, nuzzling her face into the familiar spot between his neck and shoulder.


	4. Wisdom

_You are a sleeping lion in your bed  
I will not wake you_

* * *

He lay quietly, serenely in the sterile white hospital bed, having quite thouroughly exhausted himself after speaking with Havok. His chest rose and fell slowly, regally, and his brow was relaxed, looking every bit the weary leader that he was. His hair was a complete mess and she ran her fingers through it to remove the rogue strands from his face. Somehow, he managed to look inspiring even when he was completely out of it.

His mother must have been a wise woman indeed, Riza decided, because Roy was named for the one thing that everyone saw him as: a ruler.


	5. Frost

* * *

_Say goodbye to everyone you have ever known,  
You are not gonna see them ever again_

* * *

Tawny eyes watched carefully as snowflakes whipped about in the tumultuous evening wind. Riza shivered a bit, then pulled her wool coat tighter about her as she walked.

The recruiter had told her to say goodbye to all of her friends and family as if she would never return. Because of course, she might not. It was a good possibility that she might die out there in a filthy trench, without seeing Roy again at all, and all of this would have been for naught. That was the bitter truth of the matter, anyway, and she tried not to shirk away from the thought.

Leather boots sunk into soft snow as she stepped off the road and began to ascend the familiar hill. She had never had many friends, and none of them would particularly miss her, anyhow. She'd already sent word to the school that she would not be returning, the house had been sold, and the keys had already been given to the new owner.

She had nothing left here, now, save a frozen tombstone and scattered memories.

Gloved fingers brushed the inscription clear, and suddenly she felt quite foolish for what she was about to do.

He was dead. It wasn't like he was going to talk back, at any rate. But she needed to do it, say goodbye to something, someone. Confirm that she had actually lived here, and that someone cared if she left.

So she took a deep breath and addressed the headstone with a soft voice.

"I know... that you wouldn't have approved of this. I'm sorry." A pause, contemplating her next words. "But I have to do this. I need to do this, more than anything else that I'll ever do in my whole life. Maybe I'll die." Her eyes prickled, but she bit her lip and held her emotions at bay, though her voice cracked anyhow. "Maybe it won't matter, or maybe he's not the man I thought he was, and he _doesn't_ really want to make the world a better place. I _know_ that everything might fall to pieces around me, but I'm still going to do it."

There was no answer but the wind's howl, and she stood in the snow, fists clenched, until her feet were numb and her scarf began to freeze solid.


	6. Drowning

_

* * *

__now don't drown in your tears, babe, reach your head towards the air

* * *

_

"Attention, cadets!" called the drill sergeant's familiar booming voce, all at once more and less frightening to the bound, blindfolded, and shivering underlings. Though the actual size of the boat was not discernable, it suddenly seemed much smaller than it had been while silent. "This will be a drill in the removal of and escape from a hostage situation. You will be tested individually. Expect no help. This exercise will begin-"

Until that point, Cadet Hawkeye had been waiting silently, carefully listening to all instructions and taking mental notes.

And at that very second, with the shove of a callused hand, her world literally turned upside-down.

Already uneasy due to total blindness, mindless panic worked its way through her system almost instantaneously She could feel her frenzied heartbeat through her stomach, her throat, her whole body now. Falling, falling, she instinctively began to thrash to right herself from the nauseating tumbling.

Suddenly, an explosive pain in her side and all breath left her lungs from the impact and sudden _cold_. Everything became much heavier, there was wetness- water? The rough kick of soldier's instincts came now- survive, how to survive. Underwater- surface-needed to swim-restraints-knife! She twisted her tied arms to her belt and pulled. Twisting again, sawing, tugging at the ropes that meant certain death.

The blade caught on a finger and she felt rather than saw the crimson ribbon in the water, but her hands were free now.

Pulling her feet closer, she began to saw at them as well. Her movements became weaker- can't see can't breathe need _air_. These binds fell free as well and the knife was dropped, both hands clutching her face and the strip of cloth tied there.

It fell away, but her vision still faded to black.

The pressure began to increase. Which way was air? She whirled desperately to find which way was _up_.

There. Light. She began to kick towards it, claw upwards, but not fast enough. Black spots began to appear around the edged of her vision and her weakening lungs coughed, drawing water into her body. Her eyes began to close against her will.

Then, whether it was some benevolent god, a guardian angel, or simply a hallucination of her oxygen-deprived brain, she saw someone at the surface reach down a hand to her. Scruffy hair, a kind smile. His onyx eyes begged her to stay alive, for him. Feebly, she kicked and reached up to grab the offered hand.

Her head broke the surface, and instead of the expected pale, smooth hand, she was grabbed by the same callused rough one that had sent her toppling.

Instinctively she began to cough, then to take huge, gulping breaths. She felt herself thrown carelessly onto the deck of the boat, but she made no effort to move, shaking from fear and exhaustion. Almost a full minute passed before she pulled herself to a sitting position, still shivering. Something in her broke and she looked at her feet, trying not to succumb to hysterical crying.

She became aware of her surroundings enough to realize that the cadet lying next to her _was_ crying. Her emotional guard came slamming back down, telling her that she was strong and a soldier and that she could cry later, where no one would see her.

Vaguely, she wondered where Roy Mustang was, and if he knew that a hallucination of him had just saved her life.


	7. Rust

_How do you love with fate full of rust?_

_How do you turn what the savage take?_

_

* * *

  
_

Roy turned to Hughes, killer's eyes reflected on the surface of the water. "How-" he paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts of confusion and mild disgust. "How could you live with yourself when you come home from this putrid war, and embrace the woman you love with your blood-soaked hands?"

Hughes sighed. "When I write to her… it's not as if I forget that I've killed. And it's not as if she reminds me of it, either. The fact that I've killed to stay alive and be with her… fades into the background and becomes unimportant, I guess. What's important is that we're both alive, and we have each other."

Roy snorted, concealing disdain. "I never want to forget this, and I don't think I ever could. I could never embrace someone with these hands, because no one would understand where the stench of rust was coming from."


	8. Innocence

_She lives by disillusions glow_

_We go where the wild blood flows_

_

* * *

  
_

Once, Riza Hawkeye believed that people were naturally peaceful.

It had been exactly five months, three weeks, and one day since that illusion had been shattered into thousands of miniscule pieces.

A few days before the genocide order had gone into effect, she had seen a young boy giving precious water to a stray dog. The desert heat was merciless and unforgiving, so she stepped forward, holding her own canteen of liquid gold.

Then, a glint of mental and a sharp pain. The pale cloak began to flower with crimson. She cried out and kicked blindly, reflexively, and reached for her pistol. Fired blindly, once, twice.

The knife twisted and was yanked out, bare feet scurried away.


	9. Ghost

_To convince you that I`m not  
A ghost of a stranger  
But closer than you think_

_

* * *

_

Tawny eyes peered unblinkingly into the scope of a rifle, watching. She'd been watching him for weeks now. It was her assignment, after all. The one thing she, a prodigy cadet, had ever requested, had been granted swiftly and gratefully. Apparently the previous holder of her post had found the stench of burning bodies unbearable.

He was conversing with a man she knew as Captain Hughes, walking idly away from camp, without a weapon. Foolish and overconfident. She wouldn't have a second chance if she were to miss.

A pile of rubble shifted and trained eyes refocused. With practiced, almost mechanical precision, the rifle shifted subtly. Deafening thunder, and the body fell, struck from the sky.

The familiar scrawny shoulders stiffened, then turned. His face was visible, searching for a place in the distance where he knew she must be hiding.

"Hawk's… eyes…" she followed the motions of his lips with practiced ease. "No… impossible."


	10. Pretend

_She said just go on to what you  
Pretend is your life but  
Please don't die on me_

_

* * *

_

She almost told him not to join the military that day.

He'd looked hopeless and downtrodden, said he might die at the side of the road like a dog. Miserably, pathetically, and all alone.

What he didn't know was that he was the only thing she had left- the one tiny thread that confirmed she existed at all. And now he was leaving, _leaving her_ all alone. To do what? Throw his life away like the drecks that dropped out of school? Serve a purpose that was in all senses, worthless?

She would be _fine_. She was independent, surefooted, _strong_. She didn't need anyone else holding her hand. It wouldn't be so different from where her father was around anyway, he had never helped much, right?

"Please... d-don't die." she managed, swallowing her weakness with experience.


	11. Sight

Note: The switching between "Mustang" and "Roy" is deliberate. In my mind, she only seems to call him Roy when talking about him in a deeply personal/intimate sense. The rest of the time, he's 'Colonel'  
or 'Mustang', sometimes both.

* * *

_I see the children in the rain like the parade before the pain / I see the love; I see the hate; I see this world that we can make..._

* * *

Hawkeye sees everything. Not just with her eyes, but with her heart, her mind, and her whole being. She's always been an observer, and as such, her perception is remarkable. Despite this, she generally keeps what she sees to herself.

She looks at the brothers, broken and pathetic in the wake of Scar's rage, and sees children forced to grow up too far too early. Earlier, perhaps, than herself and Mustang. It seems that this world may be cruel, but it's crueler yet to the youngest generation. Either that, or Ishbal wasn't penance enough for the youngest generation to live happily.

She sees how Edward fakes hope and optimism, even when there is none to be found, just to keep his little brother from heading down a darker path. How he pushes himself with little food and less sleep, just because his brother can't do those things. She sees how Alphonse pretends not touching, not feeling, is perfectly okay for as long as it takes Edward to restore him. How he cringes at the thought of another long night, spent all alone. She sees how Winry hates her automail being broken-- not because she has to fix it, but because it means Edward was in danger again. How she watches the brothers, wishing she could go with them.

She catches the subtle look in Gracia's eyes when she talks about her deceased husband. A knife twists in her stomach, hoping, _praying_, that nothing like that will ever happen to Roy. She'll be there to protect him, take the bullet for him if need be.

She sees how Scar shudders as he talks about State Alchemists. How he must have a reason for the blood spilt on the pavement. How his hate is both powerful and justified. But even if his reasoning was justified,  
even if Ishbal was blatant slaughter... she couldn't let him touch Mustang.

Because in Mustang, she sees the future not only as it should be, but as he would make it. A long time ago she'd seen the hopeless idealism in his tentative smile, and something about it had entranced her.  
He'd asked if she wanted to create a new world with him. She accepted, knowing it wouldn't be easy.

Hawkeye didn't do anything halfway, either.


	12. Sacrifice, Forgiveness, and Game

She always thought she'd die protecting him, not being used against him.

In a pool of her own sticky, coagulating blood, Riza hated herself. For more than ten years, she'd wanted nothing more in life than to be useful to him, to protect him, to help him. While people died around her, she'd become accustomed to the idea that death came quickly in the military. If her sacrifice could protect him in any way, she'd have no regrets but that she couldn't save him again.

But in the end, she was just a hindrance to Roy Mustang, nothing more.

Dammit.

* * *

The nightmares from Ishbal had never stopped. Even ten years later, they tore through her mind and destroyed what might have once been peaceful rest. And though it was far less often than times past, tears were still shed on occasion. But this was the one time she let herself cave into something she normally deemed weakness, as she cried not for atonement or regret. She cried simply because of the the blood-soaked sand, the discarded corpses, and the children that would never grow old.

After all, to beg forgiveness from buried victims is not the right of the murderer.

* * *

It was a familiar game, one that she and Rebbecca played on a more regular basis than she would have liked. Having often asked for love advice on her own behalf, the brunette was quite determined to return the favor, despite the fact that her friend obviously disliked it. And today it came round again.

"You know, the two of you seem awfully close, and you said you've known him for a long time. Do you--"

A sigh. Today, Riza gave up on evading the question.

"Yes, I love him." she deadpanned, sipping her tea. "And I don't need advice."


End file.
